


There Goes the Neighborhood

by WhoopsOK



Series: Damp [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Multi, Power Dynamics, Referenced Age Play, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Squick, Sweat, Wetting, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 05:32:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9307571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoopsOK/pseuds/WhoopsOK
Summary: The pants were black and he was already sweating through them.(Castiel takes a risk while doing yard work.)





	

Domesticity was a good look on the Winchesters, both for how well they fit and all the ways they didn’t.

It wasn’t often that they did this, but when they heard the one monster-proof safe house in Missouri had fallen by the wayside for the past year, they were the first in line to go clean it up. Their job was hunting monsters, yes, but taking care of people was their first real priority; in reality, it’d keep Dean up at night if they left a place people like them were meant to be safe with broken windows and a sagging porch. So they loaded up the impala to spend a few days on a project in Kansas City.

The story was an easy one should they ever need it; three brothers taking care of their dad’s leasing property after the last tenants trashed it. It’s the stuff of trashy paperbacks – the handsome, charming Singer boys showing up to town to sweat through their shirts as they did home repairs. They’ve already had the elderly woman from across the street bring them strawberry lemonade and touch Sam’s hair (which made Sam and Castiel laugh while Dean struggled to smile like he wasn’t feeling like a territorial bulldog) and the mothers down the way suddenly felt the need to check their mail for a half hour and totally-not-watch them tear out the remnants of the old porch. The attention is not exactly discreet and, oddly enough, it’s riling Castiel up.

Castiel is simultaneously glad the neighbors don’t know what they’re looking at all while wishing they did.

Because yes, Sam _is_ a good brother, bringing in the groceries and bickering with Dean, who’s paint on his cheek (from repainting the devil’s traps on the walls and ceiling), about what’s in them. And Dean’s smile is all love for his brothers as he holds the ladder or the nail or passes the tools or tosses them water bottles. But nobody else can appreciate the way their gazes catch on each other, what it means when they do. This charade is beautiful, but it’s hiding something stunning underneath. They’re more than brothers and the furtive glances and visibly denied touches the three of them are exchanging, well…

Later, when the curtains shut, Dean and Sam will still be just as charming and handsome and good-hearted as everyone thinks they are, but Castiel will get to watch Dean hold his ass open, crying while Sam fucks him against the wall. He wants them to know, to have it in their minds that this pretty idea, it’s all fake and that only they – only the _Winchesters_ get to see behind the curtain.

Basically, Castiel is trying very hard to keep his arousal discrete. He’s hot, and not just because he’s been hauling yard equipment around all afternoon.

The front yard is as clean as it can get without installing some new bushes – the kind that will grow up to block the front windows, which he intends to get tomorrow – before Sam and Dean have finished with the front of the house. Discreetly installing a devil’s trap is not an easy task, and they have to take their time to make sure the lines on the bottom of the boards meet. It’s time-consuming, but six hands wouldn’t really make it go faster than four, so Castiel heads around to start on the back. The lawn is not horrendously overgrown, but the maple tree has shed a thick layer of leaves over the whole yard. Wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, he gets to work.

A while later when he’s sitting down on top of the last bag of leaves to smash it down, his hand fisted between his thighs to keep the top of the bag from popping open, he pauses. The position reminds him of how they’d finished an entire pitcher of lemonade earlier and he’s _really_ got to pee.

The wetting thing has always been Dean’s, Castiel’s only tangentially, so there’s no reason for his breath to suddenly stutter in his chest.

Except for the fact that he’s outside where he shouldn’t be, shouldn’t _pee_ and there’s nobody around to stop him.

Holding his breath, he can still hear the tapping of the hammer around the front of the house and the Jones’ dog barking at a lawnmower three houses down. The neighborhood doesn’t have much through traffic and it’s quiet enough that Castiel feels like he’s secluded on a stage, behind the high (warded) fence like having the curtains closed. He could do anything right now and probably get away with it, without even his Sammy finding out.

The temptation is a lot.

Looking back down at where he’s white knuckling the yard bag, he realizes with a shudder that he has already sweated through the crotch of his pants and can hardly see it on the slick black fabric. And really, who’s going to be looking that closely anyway?

Even so, he glances timidly around at the empty yard before his stomach gives an urgent twinge. He needs to go in the house _now_ … or just…

Pitching up slightly, he rearranges himself so he’s seated directly on the leaves in the bag and not the bag itself. He’s gotten a little hard following this line of thought and it takes a few steadying breaths before he can relax enough to let go. His eyes slide shut as piss gathers under his ass, soaking his already damp underwear. He shutters with a hardly concealed groan, breath tight in his chest when he realizes his pants are _just_ sweat resistant enough that some of his pee is sliding down his pant legs and into his shoes instead of into the bag of leaves. He shuts his eyes, shifting against the feeling, his head tipped back. The fact that the sunlight is warm and unfiltered on his face – he’s _outside_ , he’s _pissing_ through his _clothes_ outside – makes his skin buzz, gooseflesh springing up across his arms and nipples tightening on his chest. He doesn’t realize he’s gripping the bag too tightly until it starts to stretch under his fingers, but he can’t let go. If he lets go, he’s going to touch himself and he _can’t_ , not out here, because if he starts he won’t be able to stop himself. He clenches his thighs together, shifting just minutely enough to send tingles up his spine.

He’s just wondering if he could sneak into the house without Sam and Dean noticing – he could make it quick, he really could, but when he opens his eyes to cast a glance at the house he nearly startles off the bag.

Sam is standing there, dripping with sweat and his flannel tossed over his shoulder, smirking down at him teasingly— _hungrily_. His eyes drop down and Castiel’s skin tingles as he feels piss drip off the ends of his pants. “Wait’ll Dean hears what a little degenerate he’s turned you into,” he says.

Castiel flushes down his neck. “I—”

“Dean!” Sam calls, still smiling as he raises a sharp hand when Castiel goes to stand. “C’mere a sec!”

“Yeah?” Dean says as he rounds the corner. He stops when Castiel’s wide eyes land on him, glancing between the two of them. “Sammy?” When Sam just smiles and motions him forward with a crook of his finger, Dean goes doe-eyed and needy, almost stumbling forward.

Sam waits until Dean is practically standing on him to reach down and put his hand in Castiel’s hair. “Looks like we have a problem,” he stage-whispers to Dean, ignoring the way Castiel is shuddering under his hand.

“Oh?” Dean says and there’s _no way_ he can see the stain on Castiel’s crotch, but Castiel flashes hot when his eyes track there anyway.

“Yeah, must be a positive reinforcement thing,” Sam says, trailing his nails down Castiel’s neck. “You keep getting him off when he pisses himself, he’s gonna keep pissing himself.”

“ _Oh,_ ” Dean says again, but with more breath, mouth dropping open. His lips are pink and Castiel wants to bite them, wants to _grind_ his—

“He’s got it so bad he didn’t even stop himself while he was _outside._ He just pissed right into those leaves, right down his legs.” Sam continues and Castiel can see Dean getting hard through his sweats, right in the middle of the back yard. Sam speaks against Dean’s ear, gripping the hair at Castiel’s nape as he does. “You start a habit, you should probably be the one to clean it up, right? Ah, ah—” he catches Dean’s arm when he lunges forward on instinct. “Get him inside first.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean answers and Castiel is suddenly hefted off the bag, the breeze making his pants feel cool against his ass and the piss-damp leaves spilling back onto the lawn like stolen jewels at a crime scene.

Castiel struggles to keep his footing as Dean manhandles him into the house, Sam following behind smirking. He groans when, the moment they pass the threshold of the door, Dean’s hand grabs him by the crotch.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean whimpers, stroking his hand back to press the damp fabric of Castiel’s underwear against his asshole. “You actually wet outside.”

“Maybe he wanted someone to catch him,” Sam muses, leaning against the door. “You know he has a thing for being ‘one with nature’, maybe that’s code for ‘watch me be dirty’.”

“I did— _ngh_ ,” Castiel goes to deny it, has definitely _never_ used that phrasing, but then Dean is licking at the sweat rolling down his neck and he loses his train of thought. His breath shudders when Dean bites down, “I would never—”

“Probably not, no,” Sam says, “but I saw how hot you got when you saw me. You didn’t really want this to be a secret.” He sits down at one of the folding chairs, knees spread and visibly sporting a chub, “Why don’t we put him on display?”

“What?” Castiel gasps at the same time Dean says, “ _Yes._ ” He yelps when Dean kicks his legs out, spinning Castiel around without letting him fall. Castiel goes hot when he winds up catching himself on the wall.

The wall around the window.

“Oh _n-no_ ,” Castiel whimpers and Dean pauses, rubbing his shoulder in a way that was almost friendly and pressing his hips against Castiel’s ass in a way that was _definitely_ more than just friendly.

“Is that a safeword?” Sam asks and Castiel starts shivering.

He’s so turned on he’s drooling down the inside of his briefs, adding a slipperiness to the already damp sensation. The windows are a bit small and high enough that his dick just touches the bottom of the windowsill the way he’s pressed there now. He’s _technically_ decent from street view.

The only reason he even bothers to think that is because he’s so turned on his head is spinning. A car drives past and he moans a curse under his breath, flinching backwards against Dean’s crotch. He doesn’t want to get caught, he really, _really_ doesn’t; not by anyone but his brothers. But, _fuck_ , something about the thought of being _exactly_ where he should not be turns his engine. The secrecy of something that isn’t really a secret.

It’s always there, hidden in the dark and in shared, knowing glances – filthy and slick and _wrong, wrong perfect –_ their dirty dance happening right outside of everyone else’s awareness. There’s only a thin veil between the world outside and Castiel coming apart and that _does it for him_. The fact that Sam even _knows_ that does it for him.

“Please,” Castiel moans shakily, biting his lip when Dean licks the back of his neck.

“Gotta be more specific, baby,” Dean says.

“Is that a safeword?” Sam repeats.

“ _Green_ ,” Castiel whimpers, causing Sam to chuckle darkly.

“Dirty little thing,” he mumbles fondly, “Dean, get our baby’s ass clean so he can sit it on the windowsill,” he smiles when Castiel jerks to look at him over his shoulder, “Your shirt’s—or rather, _my_ shirt’s long enough to cover your crack.”

“Sammy…” Castiel pants but then Dean is dropping to his knees, yanking his pants down, hobbling him. He clenches his eyes shut, knuckles white around the edge of the window, “but-but the smell…” He’s already been sweating for hours – is _still_ sweating, and the piss can’t have made that better; he can’t _imagine_ how it would taste. He wants to get off, he needs to come so badly it’s aching, but he doesn’t want Dean to force himself to—

Dean groans. “So good,” he whispers and Castiel feels his breath against him just before Dean’s mouth follows behind, biting at his ass cheek hard enough to smart before licking away the sting. He leaves an array of teeth marks across Castiel’s now spit-slick ass before finally spreading his cheeks. Castiel flinches involuntarily, asshole fluttering against Dean’s lips as he kisses his hole, a low moan dragging out of him when Dean licks him from balls to spine. “So good.”

“You know he likes it musky,” Sam says nonchalantly, even though Castiel can hear the tightness in his voice that says he’s turned on. “Gets off on you being all hot and sweaty, licking it off you.”

Dean moans against him, hot and damp and Castiel’s breathing is getting away from him. He shuts his eyes, resting his forehead against the glass when Dean points his tongue against Castiel’s hole, slowly licking his way inside. Castiel’s dick is dripping onto the floor as he rolls back against Dean’s face, encouraged when Dean grips his hips and draws him back.

“Fuck, Castiel, you really were hot for it, weren’t you?” Sam muses as Dean slicks up his finger with spit and presses it easily inside. Castiel’s skin prickles at the comment as much as at the sensation of Dean’s finger nearly brushing his prostate, teasing, _teasing_. “Is it that they don’t know what a little slut you are? That you let your big brother eat your pissy ass while your Sammy watches? You think Ol’ Lady Montgomery would give you more lemonade if she knew what it made you do?”

“ _Sam_ ,” Castiel begs, but he isn’t sure what for; Dean’s crooked his fingers and he can’t breathe.

“Or maybe it’s the mommies down the street you were thinking about?” Sam supposes. “You know they think we’re hot. Maybe you want them to know you’re a baby, too.”

“ _Fuck._ ”

“ _Tease_ them with the knowledge that your _our_ little baby. I can put you in a diaper and make you wet or make you cry. That you suck _my_ nipples,” Sam laughs breathlessly, “among other things. Do you want them to know how much you cry and moan when your big brother rails you?”

Castiel feels himself about to come, reaches back and grabs Dean by the hair. “Dean!”

“Turn him around,” Sam barks and Dean’s fingers stop instantly. Castiel grunts as he’s grabbed by the thighs and forced back against the window, Sam suddenly standing just behind Dean, staring down at him with heated eyes. “They don’t get to see.”

“Sam,” Castiel starts, shutting his eyes again when Sam’s hand comes up, his thumb tracing over his lip before slipping inside.

“Sammy,” Dean pants and when Castiel looks down Dean’s eyes have gone dark with lust, staring up at him all flushed and desperate. He needs the instruction when he gets like this, turns into a hammer – _a toy_ for Sammy to wield at will. There’s too much for him to decide, even when he’s on his knees, drooling for Castiel’s cock.

Sam seems to grow under their need, appearing taller and brighter somehow. He chuckles, posting up against the wall looking out the window as he rubs Castiel’s tongue with his thumb. “Get his balls first.”

Castiel shivers as Dean dips his head, dragging his tongue across Castiel’s balls. Even with the sweat – _fuck_ , and the piss – Castiel can still feel the slickness of Dean’s tongue dragging through his pre-come where it’s dribbling down his dick. He moans over the muted background noise of the neighborhood when Dean sucks his balls into his mouth and Sam’s hand comes down to the side of his neck. He goes stiff when he realizes the engine he heard outside hasn’t kept moving, then breaks out in gooseflesh when Sam raises his hand to wave.

“Wonder if the mail man wants in, too?” Sam muses aloud.

Dean moans as Castiel struggles not to jerk his hips. “ _No…_ ” he groans, though even he isn’t sure he really means it.

“Oh, you know I wouldn’t let him,” Sam assures him with the possessive tilt in his voice that sends electricity down Castiel’s spine. He leans forward so his breath brushes over Castiel’s ear while Dean pants against his balls. “They can know how pretty you are, they can even know how bad you want it, but only we get to do this to you, fuck you up like this,” he lowers his voice as if they actually have an audience to hide from, “I get off on them knowing you two belong to me.”

“Sammy, please—” Castiel whimpers, but the word shatters when Sam’s hand slides down from Castiel’s throat to grab Dean by the hair and pull his head up until his mouth settles on Castiel’s dick. “ _Oh!_ ”

“Even though we’re the only ones who get to see your face open up, eyes all lost and pretty when you come or when you’re little, they’re still going to know what you are, Cas,” Sam says, moving Dean’s head up and down Castiel’s shaft as he pants wantonly. “What else would you be doing here? Writhing and sweating against the window? You think the neighbors could tell from my smile that I’m holding your brother’s head on your cock?”

Castiel’s hand shoots out to grip the front of Sam’s shirt, the tingle of a near orgasm simmering in his gut. “ _Please,_ ” he begs, staring down at his dick disappearing into Dean’s mouth, Dean looking up at him like this might take him apart as well. “Please, Sammy, let me—”

Sam huffs a laugh. “Well. Since you asked so nicely,” he says, nosing at Castiel’s hair.

Castiel’s head thumps back against the glass when he comes, but he doesn’t really feel it, too lost in the feeling of Dean swallowing him down with ease, eyes sliding shut with pleasure. The windowsill creaks under his full weight when he sags against it, panting and petting Dean’s hair. “Dean…”

Dean just moans at him, a little lost, until Sam pulls his mouth away and drags him to his feet where he staggers drunkenly.

“Down you go, Cassie,” Sam whispers, letting Dean lean against his side.

Castiel sinks to the ground without even pulling his pants up, squinting up at them where they’re shrouded in sunlight. Sam pulls his dick over the top of his sweats reaching and moving Dean’s hands to do the same. When Castiel goes to reach for them, Sam clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Keep your hands on your thighs,” he says, continuing to pull his dick. “You’re just something pretty to look at right now.”

“ _So pretty_ ,” Dean groans and his eyes clench shut as his hand speeds up.

The desire to reach for them is nearly making his hands tingle, but he’s floaty and happy with his orgasm and the knowledge that they find him pretty. He spreads his knees and arches his back, biting his lip in false shyness when Dean’s mouth falls open, pink and still damp. When Sam’s breathing hiccups slightly, Castiel let’s his tongue loll out inviting the come he gets a moment later. He gives a little groaning laugh, even with his tongue stuck out as Dean follows suit. Shutting an eye to keep out the come rolling down his forehead, he’s slow when he licks it off his upper lip just to be a tease.

Dean laughs breathlessly, sagging back against the wall. “You _are_ a little show off, huh?”

“Learned from the best,” Castiel says. He means to stand then, but when he looks to Sam his stomach flutters a little at his arched eyebrow.

“You know, you probably got piss in your shoes,” Sam comments with a smirk as Castiel shifts, abruptly aware of the uncomfortable dampness of his socks. “You should probably use the hose to wash down before you shower.”

Castiel flushes, eyes going wide – even the one sticky with jizz. “I should…?”

“Yeah, we don’t want piss tracked through the house,” Sam adds as Dean snorts, “That bag probably shouldn’t sit in the back where the garbage men can’t get it, either. It might start to stink.”

Though Sam has a point about the shoes – Castiel would definitely like to rinse his feet before he walks around barefoot – Castiel can tell the bag of leaves is just a tease, a nudge to his supposed exhibitionism. But there’s something in Sam’s face that makes it seem too much like a challenge and something in Dean’s that makes it too much like a joke for him to ignore. He isn’t quite sure when he became such a _Winchester_ , genuinely a little brother that could be goaded into stupid shit _just because_ , but he thinks it predates his realizing he was in love with them. He should know better, shouldn’t be so easily lead, but instead he shrugs as if it really doesn’t make a difference that he’s wearing their orgasms on his face. “Fine,” he says, trying not to wobble as he stands and tugs up his pants.

Their eyes on his back are almost physical, but he doesn’t turn around; he lets their gazes stroke him as he walks out the back door. A well-working water hose, especially one in a fenced in yard, is a necessity of a profession where you might wind up covered in something a plumbing system can’t handle, so this one stings a little when he sprays his feet, even through his socks. He rinses his shoes before dropping all of it beside the door and going towards the bag. Though it’s not really warm out anymore, he’s going hot again; he can feel Sam and Dean’s drying come on his face as he reaches and shoves the fallen leaves – damp, they’re still damp, _fuck_ – into the back and ties it tight. Walking towards the gate makes his stomach flip, but he doesn’t let them see him hesitate.

He’s just dropped the bag on the curb, turned back towards the house with a triumphant smirk directed at where Sam and Dean are standing in the window, when he hears a voice call out to him.

“Oh, Mr. Singer the Youngest!”

Castiel goes beet red immediately, stomach dropping to his feet. He tries to hurry towards the house like he can’t hear her, but Lady Montgomery moves quickly for a septuagenarian.

“Oh, _Mr. Singer!_ ” she calls again, coming up behind him. “A moment of your time!?”

Realizing there isn’t a clean (literally) way to get away, Castiel wipes a quick, firm hand down his face and hopes it’s enough. He turns and gives her his best surprised smile. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you. I’m all sweaty. From yard work,” he says before he realizes how ridiculous and suspicious that sounds. He hurries on when her eyes examine his cheek a little too closely, “You needed something?”

“Oh yes, darling,” she says slowly, then shakes herself. “Yes, your brothers mentioned you boys would be staying the night so I figured I best get on over to see if you’d like to join me for bingo night,” she lowers her voice with a mischievous smirk, “They said you have an old soul. I can appreciate that in young folk.”

Castiel gapes at her for a moment, wondering if he is hearing her correctly. “Oh—um? I think we’re still going to be busy—”

“I just meant _you_ , honey,” she says, taking a step forward, reaching out.

Castiel nearly trips over himself moving backwards. “I’m all sweaty,” he repeats dumbly, “and hot.” When her eyebrows raise in amused interest, he takes another stumbling step backwards. “And _tired_. You know, really, I should get some rest. We’re still—I’m—you… Enjoy your bingo night,” he says in a rush and, when she just stares at him, turns on his heel and makes a break for the house.

Sam and Dean are bent double with laughter when he comes back in the door.

“You’re mean!” Castiel whines, though his pout is mostly for show as Dean comes forward to hug him and Sam licks his cheek. He shoves them off until their teasing dies down into baby talk and coddling and, well…

…Ok, Castiel can admit – though never aloud – that it was _sort of_ funny.

Though the nickname Lord Montgomery VII gets tired _real_ fast.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading… if you don’t like water, lemonade is better than nothing! stay hydrated!


End file.
